Let The Night Begin
by Sapphire Warrioress
Summary: Glimpses of characters ranging from classical myth to British folklore, as they await the rising of the moon.
1. Chapter 1

For the first time in her existence, Selene is apprehensive as she begins her familiar journey across the sky. She has no need to direct her horses, for they know the secret paths of the moon as well as she, and need only the gentle encouragement of their bright mistress to speed them on their way. But on this warm summer night her steeds are puzzled, for beneath the expected note of command in Selene's voice lingers another impression. It causes them to hesitate, to turn their heads towards the bright goddess in concern and an ever present offer of friendship.

Realizing what is amiss; she calms them with gentle words and urges them forward. Only when they are well on their way does she confide to her old friends the shocking truth. That on this night she is daring to make a choice which only her fair sister Ios has attempted, one which led to disaster and ruin. Like all immortal creatures her horses know the story, and whinny in alarm that their beloved friend and goddess has chosen to walk this dangerous path. For many miles they plead with her to abandon this plan, but she remains steadfast and will pay no heed to their words.

So they reluctantly follow her orders, carrying her closer to the earth than they have ever dared to venture before, until at last she smiles and points excitedly down. With a grace which no mortal horses could ever hope to equal they alight in a quiet meadow where her chosen consort is waiting. Knowing that her horses will not forsake her, Selene steps down from her chariot and approaches her sleeping shepherd; eyes alight with joy and eager expectation as she makes the request which will forever alter the course of this mortal's destiny.

"Zeus Thunderer, I ask now that you grant my request and give to my Endymion the gift of eternal sleep." For an instant the searing brilliance of lightning illuminates the evening sky, and Selene knows that it has been done according to her wish.

Tenderly she gathers Endymion close, and in one graceful motion leaps aboard her chariot, calling out to her horses in a voice filled with joy and triumph. Swiftly they ascend, until once more their hooves rest secure upon the sacred pathway. And Selene gazes down at her consort, awed at the prospect of making this mortal her own forever.

She claims him as her chosen as the midnight hour strikes, knowing that there can be no turning back once she has given her soul into this mortal's keeping. Curiosity stirs as she wonders at the strength of the spell which binds Endymion to Morpheus's realm, and she tentatively reaches out to brush back a stray lock of her lover's hair. He stirs at her touch, dark eyes focusing on her face with a look of incredulous wonder. . She welcomes his caresses, the first mortal touch she has ever known, and gives to him in return the gift of her passion. She learns to tame the scorching caresses of her divine hands into touches which a mortal can bare, though always there is present beneath the semblance of mortal woman the bright flame of her presence.

Theirs is a language of mingled thoughts and tender endearments, of knowledge shared during the deep hours of night as she loves her shepherd with a passion meant for eternity. But stronger still is the joining of their souls, where the strength and courage of his mortal spirit merges with the celestial flame of her divinity.

She proudly brings their children to him as soon as each is born; loosening for a brief instant the silvery threads of his enchantment so that he might rejoice in what their love has created. It is only then that she appreciates the skill of Zeus's work, the true mastery of power displayed in what appears to be a simple act of divine will. For the spell is a subtle one, crafted to linger at the edge of thought, to keep the one chosen forever within Morpheus's realm. It can be stretched, even reshaped to her will. But never broken.

She is always there to soothe him at the breaking of dawn, to whisper words of reassurance and reweave the tapestry of his dreams into patterns which promise a gentle sleep. He is forever caught within its seductive web, bound by the magics of storm and sky and the pledge which he gave to his beloved long ago.

Always she rejoices when he murmurs her name, calling her beloved in a voice so gentle and warm that she does not wonder that his people named him a friend to all creatures.

Deep within her rests the awareness of time's relentless march, and the bitter knowledge that all she holds dear will inevitably change. She knows that many of her divine kin will then pass into the realms of legend, and only those with strong ties to the earth and her people will survive. And so in the dark of the night she takes him up and commands her horses to bare them hence to a secret place high in the mountains.

Centuries pass, and according to her nature she welcomes others who have earned her favor to take up the mantle of consort. But always she is drawn back to her first lover's resting place by the strength of treasured memories of the nights they shared long ago. And within the secret places of her soul, she is always aware of her first Endymion's thoughts. Her one constant in an ever changing world, each is slow measured and deep, like the voice of the great river Nile. They are as much a part of her as her immortality, and she could no more bar them from her mind than she could command the dawn to rise in her sister's stead.

_Authoress's note: This story is based on Snapegirlkmf's excellent tale Moon Fire. It's a unique and delightful blend of Harry Potter and various mythologies which I highly recommend._

_I hope you all enjoyed this first glimpse of Selene, she will appear again further on in this series of short tales._

_Feedback is _greatly_ appreciated._

_Thanks for reading._


	2. Chapter 2 A Witch's Tale

Many would say that the sight of a plump middle aged woman placing loaves in the oven is perfectly ordinary. Indeed they would venture to suggest that such a scene is often repeated in countless kitchens all over the world. And in many cases this would be true. Except that no ordinary housewife or mother would even consider entertaining the dark thoughts which occupy the mind of the witch who resides in this cottage hidden deep within an ancient forest.

How long must I wait? This is the thought which consumes every waking moment, until she is nearly driven mad with frustration. Deeper still is the constant ache of hunger for mortal flesh and the need to test her spells against a worthy opponent who presents a challenge. Four months of waiting and hoping, of spells crafted in malice to beguile and entrap a human child in search of food. And still none had come to her door to ask for a crust of bread.

Could her magic be weakening? Or had word of her exploits reached so far beyond the forests' borders that no parent would let their children walk its paths alone. Those explanations could be part of the reason why she had not had fresh meat in many months.

Her thoughts turn to long ago, when she was driven from her homeland by those who feared and hated what she was. She recalled the endless months of traveling and searching for a place where she could work her magic without fear of discovery or retribution. Her search had led her here, to this forest of hidden glades and towering oaks. Still she wasn't content, for she knew that much work lay ahead if she was ever to enjoy her previous successes.

As her keen mind sought out ways to fulfill her twisted desires, an intriguing plan took shape. But was it possible? Certainly no other witch that she knew of had ever attempted such an unusual and ambitious project. And it was for that very reason that she would make the attempt.

Each step was carefully planned, for she wanted no errors in this challenge which would blend magic and mortal arts in a way never before seen. She began her work, using her knowledge of mortal food to create delicacies which would delight and satisfy countless children.

And as she baked she sang songs which offered the promise of rest after a day's toil, of the warmth of a good fire and an evening spent in the company of friends. She recalled the ancient lullabies of her people, treasured melodies which countless mothers had sung over the cradles of their children. Some of these were in fact old chants crafted by sorceresses to protect their little ones, composed so skillfully that even those without that priceless gift could call upon the magic of creation to guard their children. How she delighted in twisting such noble magic, in slowly unraveling each bright strand of power and replacing it with delicate webs of subtle seduction and beguilement. For many days she worked, finishing each confection with words of power, of enticement and subtle compulsions to come and taste and enjoy until at last her house was complete.

Her plan had succeeded admirably, drawing many a lost and hungry child to her door where she would welcome them in with false words of comfort and the offer of a night's shelter. Only after crossing the threshold did they realize the danger, but by then all hope of rescue was futile.

Power stirs within her, drawing her back to the present, as she is informed that children are at last near. For a moment she considers leaving her sanctuary to seek them out and tender lodging for the night, knowing that few would ever refuse such a tempting offer. But as she wills the flames in the hearth to show her their location, she is glad that she didn't act according to impulse. For walking next to the children is the father and mother, the latter's face filled with sorrow at the prospect of leaving his children to the mercy of the forest. Grim joy fills her soul, for if the parents were deliberately leaving their children to wander and eventually starve to death so much the better. They would hardly be the first to take such desperate measures. Now she had only to wait for evening before luring them into her house through subtle trickery and the promise of a warm meal.

The first stars of evening appear, and she watches as Hansel and Gretel prepare to make the long journey home. They walk a few paces, before the boy stops and appears to be searching for something he has dropped. His sister joins in the search, until finally they sit down dejected.

She watches as the brother draws his sister into a protective embrace, offering words of comfort and promising to keep her safe. At last they succumb to exhaustion, and curl up together by the small fire they have managed to light to ward off the chill of the evening air.

They are so close. She can taste their fear, underlying courage and something deeper which she cannot for the moment name. But as her chosen victims kneel on the forest floor she recognizes what it is all too well. Did they really believe that a simple evening prayer would keep them safe from her magic? Oh she knew of the legend, many parents comforted their children with stories of the fourteen angels who kept guard over children in danger. But never had she thought she would encounter anyone who would actually consider testing the truth of the legend's claim. Unbidden anxious thoughts assail her, and she wonders if perhaps there is truth behind the ancient story.

But if that were so, then why weren't other children protected from her magic?

Dismissing such ridiculous ideas from her mind, she keeps her gaze fixed upon the dancing flames, determined to do all in her power to lure these children into her clutches. The moon begins its ascent and still her focus does not waver as she watches the children gradually succumb to sleep, exhausted by the hardships of the day. Her thoughts turn to her own comfortable bed, and for a moment she considers ending her spell. Curiosity coupled with the need for little sleep decides her course, and she once more settles down to continue her vigil.

The moment the moon is fully risen she knows that something is wrong. As before her magic is very much awake, telling her of coming disaster. Strong fingers grasp a slender wand as she sends her magic forth, seeking to learn more. And what she finds causes her to gasp in shock, as her wand falls unnoticed to the floor.

One moment the clearing is empty, the next it is ablaze with a light so intense that she is forced to turn away. Everything within her is urging her not to look, but curiosity as to what this could mean prompts her to fix her gaze upon the flames she summoned. All that is dark and corrupt within her recoils at the sight, for she knows that these are the fourteen angels she has so long considered legend come to protect these children. The glory which surrounds them is too pure, too fierce and all consuming for them to be anything else.

As if choreographed they separate and find a place to stand. The words of the children's prayer fill her mind, and she watches as one by one they take their positions with the ease of long practice. Their leader's face is stern and commanding, and yet within his eyes there burns compassion and tenderness as he looks down upon the sleeping brother and sister. Every instinct within her is warning her that this is an adversary worthy of great respect, a warrior who is more than capable of ending the life she has worked so hard to forge.

Sensing her presence he turns in her direction, drawing a sword lit from within by celestial fire. And for the first time since her exile, she knows what it is to be afraid. Tales of this sword were closely guarded, known only amongst those born to command magic. Forged within the all consuming fire of God's presence, it was said to have played a crucial role in the battle which exiled Lucifer from heaven. And she knows of only one angelic being who could wield a flaming sword with such grace and confidence. He is none other than the archangel Michael; commander of heaven's warriors.

For an instant their eyes meet, and it takes all of her strength to hold that piercing gaze. But harder still is the struggle to stand tall before the power of the voice which commands her full attention,

"Think you that your slaughter has gone unnoticed? That the sorrow of each grieving mortal has not been heard in the courts of heaven? You ridicule the faith of these children, and yet it has this night conquered all of your magic."

"All who venture this far into the forest are mine. It has been this way for many years, and their parents have given up all claims to these children."

"Not so, for this very night their father prayed asking that Jehovah would send his angels to watch over his children. Always fourteen are chosen, and it is not often that I am asked to be counted among their number.

Tonight you will not have them, for they have called upon the very music of creation to protect them from danger.

They will be yours for a time, but heed my words, for when they step across the threshold of your house then you will know that death awaits you."

Hot anger rises within her, for never before has anyone dared to challenge her with such boldness and authority. She glares back at the archangel defiance clearly written in her gaze, not wanting to admit that his words have made her uneasy. She has waited so long for children to be within her reach, only to be thwarted by the decree of the one who had written the very laws of the universe.

She heaves a sigh of relief when the dawn chorus of birds begins, and despite no sleep rises to begin her baking. If she is to die soon then she is determined to make her last days unforgettable.

She welcomes Hansel and Gretel with kind words and the promise of a feast, leading them to the long table where all is ready. With a contented smile she watches as they devour every scrap of food, and pay her many compliments on her skills as a cook. She listens with feigned interest, as they speak of the times before famine came to the land, when their birth mother had been alive and all was right with their world.

It is only after they are asleep that she allows her mask to drop, and her features harden into a face utterly devoid of warmth and pity.

What does she care that they are favored by heaven? Hunger and curiosity has brought them to her door, and she is determined to slay them as she has so many others regardless of who is watching over their destiny.

_Authoress's note: Thanks to Snapegirlkmf for her wonderful review. I hope that this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoyed this unusual character sketch._

_What did you think of my twist on a familiar fairy tale?_

_I had lots of fun bringing in elements from the opera composed by Humperdinck and his sister._

_The libretti doesn't say which angels appear at the end of the second act, so I thought I would play with both opera and fairy tale a bit and include Michael in this chapter._

_Thanks for reading and as always I would love to hear what you think of this series so far. Lets see if I can get ten reviews._

_Oh and if anyone would like to hear the Evening Prayer duet and following instrumental piece from the opera which inspired this small tale, let me know and I'll post the link on my profile._


	3. Chapter 3 Thomas The Terrible

_Authoress's note: My thanks to Snapegirlkmf, for her help with the history for Aislinn and Voldemort described in this chapter. This story is based upon her excellent tale Return to Prince Manner, where she gives her readers glimpses of Voldemort's history with Titania and her people. This chapter is my attempt to tell that tale, and I hope I have done Snapegirlkmf's characters justice in my retelling._

_The title for this chapter also comes from Snapegirlkmf's story, and is Queen Titania's name for Voldemort._

_Thanks to those who have reviewed, I would love to know what you think of this chapter, especially my ideas concerning Parseltongue._

_Enjoy._

The young man ran with an effortless grace which could only be learned through years of practice. Every step and even each breath he took was carefully controlled, for he had no desire to be captured and brought before the Queen of Faerie for judgment. He was grateful for the darkness which had always been his friend, for it afforded him the protection he so desperately needed to avoid any guards sent to prevent his escape. Already he had killed one of their number, and he had no doubt that if they caught him they would avenge their comrade's death.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, three warriors clad in armor which could only have been wrought by fae magic passed his hiding place. But Long accustomed to concealing himself in the deepest shadows, he remained utterly still until the guards had passed.

He had always loved the dark, for it afforded him the concealment he needed so that he could do whatever he wished. Even during his years at the orphanage, he had often slipped quietly out of bed without waking the other children, using what he learned later was his magic to move unseen about the building and grounds. In this way he had taken revenge on the children who had teased and tormented him, taking pleasure in such acts as the killing of Billy's rabbit. He had felt no remorse after the death of the small animal, simply a cold satisfaction that the little nuisance would never bother him again.

His nighttime wanderings had continued even after he went off to Hogwarts, where unknown to the stern librarian he had devoured every book he could obtain from the restricted section. It was there he first learned of the fae and their strange elemental magic. And he had made up his mind then and there to find a way to master not just the power which was his birthright, but the magic of faeries as well.

It wasn't until he had left Hogwarts and begun his work at Borgin and Burkes that he found a way to achieve his goal. For hidden amongst the dark texts his employer collected was a slender volume. He spent many nights studying its pages, fascinated by the history and customs of a people which not only muggles, but wizards considered to be mere legend. But it wasn't until the final sentence that he found what he had been seeking. For the chant he read called upon the High Queen of Faerie herself, asking that she accept the services of a mortal wizard for a year and a day in return for the gift of knowledge.

He spoke the words with every appearance of humility, though it took all of his strength to maintain that facade when he first saw Titania. Not until that moment did he understand the truth behind the old legends, that these ageless immortal beings were connected to the primal forces of nature in ways which no witch or wizard could even begin to fathom. It took all of his strength to meet her gaze with confidence, and return her offer of friendship with the courtesy and poise which his old teacher Horace Slughorn had so admired.

He didn't even try to suppress his wonder as Titania opened a long forgotten door into her realm. Here he was, Tom Riddle, being welcomed into a world which few wizards believed existed. He could hardly wait to begin his duties.

As promised Titania kept her bargain, giving him the position of Court Wizard.

A meaningless title, for the faerie queen only requested his presence at court whenever she wished to acquaint her subjects with the intricacies of mortal enchantments. Often Titania would send for him, so that he might give the noble fae lords a demonstration of the magics which mortal sorcerers and sorceresses wielded. He preferred the hours spent translating texts. If nothing else it was amusing to read of the fae's views of mortal magic.

Curiosity and the unbroken will which had assured him a place of honor at Hogwarts drove him to learn all he could of the fae's musical tongue. He knew that Titania's court had marveled at the speed with which he had learned every phrase, and it had taken all his skill to suppress his amusement at their astonishment. For what had helped him to master their language wasn't the power of intellect alone, but his proficiency with the language of snakes.

He had never ceased to marvel at the prejudices of wizards against dark magic, or their readiness to believe the old tales that Parseltongue and all who were destined to wield its power were evil. For unlike many in the wizard world he had gone to the trouble of researching its origins. And the knowledge he had gained from all those hours of reading wasn't dark. On the contrary, he learned that once the serpent language was a noble tongue, spoken by Asclepius himself to the sacred serpents who taught him the ancient secrets of healing. He suspected that many in both Muggle and wizard worlds viewed the serpent as a symbol of evil and darkness, because of the story of the fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden. He had pursued that theory with relentless purpose, even going so far as using the serpent tongue to seduce and bind Aislinn to his will. It was a remarkable language, for it possessed that same liquid fluidity which set the fae's musical tongue apart from any other in mortal and immortal realms. He took great pleasure in that secret knowledge, practicing every phrase and subtle nuance, until he heard the words for which he had waited so long.

"If I didn't know better, I would swear that you were a noble fae lord, for you speak as one who has known our language all his life." What made that comment all the more satisfying was that it came from Sarai, Titania's trusted captain of the guard.

But always present was the unwelcome knowledge that he was a mere child compared to these ancient beings, and that no matter what he said or did he would never be anything than a young mortal wizard on a futile quest for the secrets of immortality. It was this realization which drove all thoughts of keeping his word to Titania from his mind, until even his desire for knowledge dimmed in comparison to his need to prove himself worthy of learning the fae magics. Darker thoughts followed, until he made the decision which would decide his eternal destiny.

He knew all too well that the queen did not trust him, that like any wise monarch aware of his reputation she had ordered his movements carefully watched.

A cold smile lit his face, for all of her precautions had not been able to keep him from seducing her favored child. It had been ridiculously easy to win her trust, to accept her offer to tutor him with the expected deference and gratitude that a daughter of the royal house was willing to give him instruction. He had marveled that a race skilled in glamourie and the telling of half truths had not seen through his guise of pretended friendship.

He had been an eager pupil, and often during their lessons he had cast the fae princess subtle hints and looks which she could not fail to notice. His conquest had been ridiculously easy, for Aislinn was more than willing to take a mortal sorcerer for her lover, and readily believed his pretty speeches and promises that he would take her to wife once his term of service was complete. Of all the things he had learned during his time in the faerie realm, he would remember his night with Aislinn for years to come. To him she had been more than a successful conquest; it was his way of telling Titania and all her court that a mortal was just as devious, cunning and clever as they, that they who counted themselves superior were not all knowing.

Not even Sarai, the trusted Captain of the guard had been able to track his movements, and he was sure that she suspected him of treachery.

She might have centuries of experience, but he took great delight in thwarting every effort she made to bring him before Titania for questioning and judgment.

Only one thing he regretted. While at Titania's court he had learned of the fae's most sacred art, a discipline forbidden for mortals to learn. It was this which infuriated him beyond description. That he who had been Hogwart's brightest

who had always loved the night in all its guises could never become master of the fae's Dance of Shadows. How he wished that he could have learned it, so that he could corrupt yet another magical art and twist it for his own ends. He might not be able to perform it, but he knew all the signs that a skilled practitioner was close. Which was how he sensed the subtle shift of shadow just before a silveron sword descended where he had been standing a moment ago.

He met the triumphant eyes of Sarai, and in spite of himself he couldn't suppress a shudder. For never had he seen a face so cold, so hard, so merciless.

She might be only half fae, but he realized in that moment that she would slay him without the least remorse. Such was the nature of every fae creature, and for a moment he found himself wishing that he too might attain that inhuman coldness when confronting an enemy.

Sarai's voice had an edge as sharp as her drawn sword as she held the blade to his throat.

"You have led me a merry dance, Tom Riddle. I warn you now that my people never forget an insult, and what you did broke every code of honor both here and in the mortal world. Don't imagine that you can evade fae justice there either, for there will come a day when you will answer to Titania for your crimes. I name you oath breaker, defiler and murderer." He struggled to keep his face impassive, for he knew that the oft used phrase names have power was birthed in this realm. He didn't even want to think about the fact that with those words, Sarai had made sure that he would be forever marked by the power of her invocation. Neither time nor distance could break its hold, thus insuring that there would be no escaping the High Queen's wroth. He met the warrioress's gaze with cool defiance,

"You will have won only if you can capture me, Sarai Kinsalari Valinek. And I will make it a pursuit which will test every spell and trick you have ever learned in the arts of war."

Through halls and rooms of exquisite beauty the wizard fled, determined to elude the fae warrioress at all costs. But he had not reckoned on her intimate knowledge of the royal palace, or her determination to fulfill her Queen's orders. No matter where he went, or how fast he ran she was always behind him, and would surely have captured him if he hadn't thought of a clever plan.

In one last desperate effort, he recalled the words which Titania had used to open a gate between her realm and the mortal world, and decided to put a theory he had developed over his months with the fae to the test. He waited until the moment he entered one of the palace's grand ballrooms whose walls were composed of mirrors. Then he spoke the words he had committed to memory, but unlike Titania's invocation they were not in the liquid tongue of the fae. Instead the dark syllables of Parseltongue slipped effortlessly from his lips, turning the wall before him into a portal lit by dark fire.

Sarai could only watch in shock as her quarry escaped, furious and disappointed that she had not been able to capture the mortal wizard. With a heavy heart she sought out Titania, knowing that the queen would not seek her bed until she was given news of the traitor's capture. She found her monarch and friend in the throne room pacing restlessly back and forth.

"I am sorry My Lady; the fae captain curtsied gracefully before her monarch. I did all I could, but. Sarai hesitated for a moment before adding. "Aislinn taught him well my Queen. And I suspect he took your lessons on warding and the magics of concealment to heart. He is many things, most of all intelligent and a skilled wielder of magic." You might also be interested to know that he has a twisted sense of honor, and is always ready to test his skills against an enemy he deems a worthy adversary."

The High Queen turned to face her friend and trusted Captain, and Sarai glimpsed for an instant the mother in mourning beneath the mask of the fae queen. "Aislinn is a skilled mage in the ways of fae magic. Her tutors always speak well of her, and unlike her brothers she is always willing to explore her magical potential in many intriguing areas. I'm not surprised that she helped Riddle master the few magics we agreed to teach him."

"What did he seek to learn from you? Few wizards ever come here, and those that do often ask to learn The Dance of Shadows, or our spells of war."

"He requested that I teach him the secrets of immortality," A cold smile briefly illuminated Titania's face. "But of course I did not give him that knowledge, for he would use that gift in ways I don't even want to contemplate."

"I am sorry that I couldn't bring him before you for judgment. He deserves a harsh sentence for what he did."

"I do not blame you my friend, for that one is as cunning and devious as the snakes he loves. A true heir of Slytherin. If not for his treachery I would have asked him to remain at my court after he had finished his service, for he is destined for greatness.

But he has forfeited that chance this night, and I am more than willing to wait until an opportunity comes to see that justice is done."

So it was that he who would become Lord Voldemort escaped back to the mortal world, confident that none in the faerie realm would or could seek him out and demand retribution for his crimes against the royal house. He could not know that one of the greatest queens in fae history had immediately sworn to take vengeance upon the mortal wizard who had seduced her beloved daughter. Or that the offspring of his night with Aislinn would become a friend to the boy destined to bring about his downfall.


End file.
